Magic
by MeilleurCafe
Summary: Strings and keys.  Business and pleasure. Learning and knowing. Edward and Bella are two brilliant musicians with very different lives.  Can their deep passion for music bridge the gap? AH; ExB. Rated M for later lemon. Written for FGB Summer 2010.
1. The First Movement

**This story was written for amymorgan, as part of The Fandom Gives Back auction of summer 2010. My sincere gratitude for her donation, her idea for this story, her music suggestions, and her incredible unwavering support of my writing. I can't thank her enough.**

**The First Movement**

_December, 1986- Bainbridge Island, WA_

The warm scent of gingerbread cookies drifted through the house as Elizabeth Masen put the last of the dirty bowls in the sink. She'd been baking all week, it seemed. Making the usual amount of Christmas cookies took forever with a three-and-a-half year-old underfoot.

Not that she was complaining. Her son Edward III was a source of joy she could never have anticipated. If he distracted her – and that happened every 15 minutes - she never begrudged him. She enjoyed letting him "help" her.

Now that the cookies were in the oven, Edward kept wandering near the stove. That made Elizabeth nervous, so she took him to the piano. Edward loved music and would almost always stop what he was doing to listen, whether she played a tune herself or had merely turned on the radio. She adjusted him on her lap and started to tap out a classical piece.

Edward watched, fascinated, as her fingers moved across the keys. She wondered if he was absorbing what she was doing, so she played very carefully. When the timer for the oven sounded, Elizabeth slid the toddler to the floor. After a quick glance around to make sure the baby gates were in place, she ran to the kitchen and pulled out sheets of cookies.

As she was placing the trays on her stove, Elizabeth heard the unmistakable sound of the piano. But it wasn't the usual cacophony created when a young child bangs on the keys.

Returning soundlessly to the living room, Elizabeth saw her son standing in front of the piano, with his arms extended just enough to reach the keys. She watched as he slowly moved his fingers, his little face a study in concentration. Meticulously, Edward was repeating the exact part of "Für Elise" she'd played minutes before.

_December, 2010_ _- Seattle_

Bella Swan tapped her pen absently against a yellow legal notepad as she read, for the third time, the letter which had been forwarded by her boss, Carlisle Cullen. It was written by someone named Edward Masen, whom Bella had never heard of but who was rapidly becoming her least favorite person in the music world.

"**Dear Mr. Cullen,**  
><strong>I am writing to request an audition with DigiClassic Music. As a classical pianist, I would like to record with your label, and I would be honored if you would let me perform for you. <strong> **Your reputation for excellence is as esteemed as your musical genius, and as such I would consider DigiClassic the only venue for my talent."**

_Cockiness?_ Bella thought. _Or reality-based confidence?_ As the vice-president of artists and recording for DigiClassic, she'd seen more of the former and far too little of the latter.

"**I'll be in Washington for the coming holiday, and I would be honored to meet at your convenience. Please see the attached list of curriculum vitae. I trust it meets your high standards."**

Masen had included almost five pages of references, names of original compositions and their premiere dates, settings for juried performances, and of course, his education. Bella noted the dates and location for that last category, then quickly looked online for corresponding editions of The Philadelphia Inquirer. She searched the paper for "Edward Masen."

Several hits came up, and Bella started with an article from September. "Curtis Institute Scores Major Talent Coup," the headline crowed. She raised an eyebrow skeptically and began to read.

"Edward Masen, a brilliant pianist who recently completed studies at the Royal College of Music in London, has been appointed to a teaching position at the Curtis Institute of Music - with the rank of full professor," the article led off. "Considering that he is only 27 and hasn't completed his PhD, this is highly unusual.

"But his talent and skills are such that Curtis fought hard for him, competing against other prestigious schools like Juilliard, Harvard, the Boston Conservatory and the Royal College itself. The school made a special arrangement with the University of Pennsylvania which allows Masen to pursue his doctorate there while teaching at Curtis.

"According to a Penn source, it took little, if any, effort to get Penn to agree. Key faculty from its prominent graduate program in music jumped at the chance to share Edward Masen with Curtis.

"Masen has been sporadically performing at leading concert halls in the United States, and is widely viewed as an important up-and-comer among classical pianists."

Bella scanned the rest of the article, then hit "print."

_Why haven't I heard of him? _ she wondered. The note Carlisle attached to Masen's letter more or less asked the same question.

_**After I received this, I checked with some friends on the East Coast. Apparently Edward Masen is the real thing**__,_ Carlisle had written in his elegant cursive. _**We should know more about him. See me.**_

Translation: Aren't _you_ supposed to tell _me_ about major prospects?

Carlisle had hired Bella for her keen eyes and ears. She possessed the background to understand true classical talent, and he relied on her to find and sign names worthy of the DigiClassic label. Bella's instincts were flawless, and Carlisle was usually lavish in his appreciation. At the same time, he had little patience for missed opportunities. He viewed it as negligence. This was enough motivation to keep her scouring college auditoriums, online music sites, and arts sections of newspapers and magazines while also cultivating a reliable network of sources.

It wasn't a nine-to-five job, but Bella had the physiology of a musician. She was used to working odd hours.

Bella was not, however, accustomed to failure. She released a deep breath of exasperation. By now, Edward Masen had completed a semester. It's possible his reputation had already attracted the attention of agents, publicists, managers, or other music labels. First, she'd have to placate Carlisle. Then, she'd have to investigate this Masen character and see if he was a true prospect.

Bella pulled the article out of the printer and race-walked down the hall to Carlisle's office. She knocked at his door without bothering to check with his secretary.

"Yes?"

"Carlisle, it's Bella. I wanted to talk to you about the information you gave me this morning," she said.

"Come in."

She stepped into the spacious office suite where floor-to-ceiling windows afforded an impeccable view of downtown Seattle and beyond. Bella, however, directed a scowl down at the plush carpet. It was difficult to think of a sufficient excuse for why she'd missed this prospect. She was less concerned about Carlisle's anger, which was rare, than his disappointment, which was devastating.

Bella handed Carlisle the article and gestured to the paper's banner. "I found this  
>information on Edward Masen. It seems to be the most comprehensive of what's available online right now."<p>

Carlisle smiled in a way that made Bella think he'd already read the article but was at least pleased she'd moved on it quickly.

"I thought about flying to Philly, but the semester will be over in a day or two. His letter says he's coming back west," she noted. "I want to call him today and arrange for him to meet with us here. I can make it clear we're interested." Bella wanted to leave no possibility that anyone would scoop Masen up before DigiClassic had the chance to hear him, especially since she hadn't found him first.

Carlisle nodded and thought for a moment before responding. "I think that's a good idea." As if discerning her concerns, he added, "Masen reached out to us, so I'm hoping that means he isn't looking anywhere else."

"The article in The Inquirer says he's pursuing an academic career."

"This writeup is several months old," Carlisle pointed out, "and clearly, he's interested in more than teaching. Talk to him and get back to me right away."

Bella nodded and turned to leave, sensing her dismissal. On her way out, Carlisle called to her.

"I have a good feeling about Masen." A pause, then another nod. "You can get this."

She smiled at her mentor, unable to disguise her relief at his words. "I won't let you down."

"I know." Carlisle gave her a final smile, then returned to the papers on his desk without further discussion.

On the walk back to her office, Bella began forming the conversation in her mind. Masen had written directly to Carlisle, which meant she'd have to carefully present herself as Carlisle's sanctioned representative. He had to accept her and not press to speak only with her boss.

Another idea spurred her to jog the last few yards back to her office. Sliding into her chair, she logged back on to the Internet and went immediately to YouTube to search for Edward Masen. Seconds later, she had several videos to choose from.

The first, a performance of "Benediction de Dieu dans la solitude" by Franz Liszt, was shot at the Royal College in London. It wasn't an easy piece, but then, many by Liszt were challenging to interpret. She clicked on "play" and prepared to be underwhelmed.

Instead of the standard still image of Liszt, a piano, or an angel to go with the audio track, there was a video of the performance. When the opening notes sounded, Bella was immediately drawn to the countenance of the young man she saw in front of her.

Even though the quality was slightly grainy, she could plainly see his expression: reverential, focused, almost other-worldly. She knew the feeling of being transported to another place by a beloved piece of music, and Bella recognized it immediately in Masen's face and body language. He was not merely playing a Liszt composition on the piano. The Liszt composition had overtaken him and was passionately working its way out through his limbs, his hands, and his expressions.

Gradually, the sweetness of the music lured Bella in as well. The piece had some dramatically repetitive qualities to it, and the fervor built gradually. Even through the acoustic shortcomings of the computer, Bella could feel its emotion. She sensed that Edward Masen played not what was requested of him, but whatever he could complement. Some pianists attached themselves to classical pieces as if they were the new rightful owners. Bella knew that Masen was exactly this breed of intuitive musician.

The notes drifted off in a high refrain before a lower key took over. At this point, Bella would normally have logged off the Web and moved on. But she couldn't stop watching the tall pianist who swayed and dipped in front of the keyboard as the music commanded his movements.

Bella watched as he stopped playing and moved his hands away from the keys, resting them in his lap. His head stayed slightly bowed. The video ended, and a single credit with Masen's name and the title of the Liszt composition appeared.

Switching quickly to Google, she looked up The Curtis Institute. On the home page, an article trumpeted Masen's arrival for the fall semester. Most of it recycled the Inquirer article as well as Masen's CV. What really captured her attention was his photo in the upper left hand corner of the article.

He looked intense. Focused. Determined.

And handsome. Edward Masen was extremely good looking: a strong jawline, a graceful neck, piercing eyes that showed clearly even in the three-inch shot. Bella had no idea whether the photo was candid or posed. Either way, Masen dominated the camera.

Bella picked up her phone and pressed it against her lips. She stared at the picture and composed the conversation in her head for a few minutes, then dialed.

_December, 2010 – Philadelphia_

It was cold, but not snowy: typical Philly weather for this time of year. Edward strode quickly through Rittenhouse Park on his way back to the Curtis Institute.

The close of the fall term was about a week away, and Edward was thinking typical end-of-the-semester thoughts. Since he was both teacher and student, he had the worries of each but very little time for both.

There were compositions to evaluate, which involved intensely critiquing performances. There were papers to grade for his theory class. He had to finalize his own music pieces for his doctoral course work. And a number of orchestra directors were pressing him to join them for special appearances, asking for commitments well into the summer.

A plastic shopping bag worked its way through some bushes and tangled at Edward's feet. He kicked at it absent-mindedly, worrying about the piles of papers which awaited his return from lunch. Edward hated paperwork of any sort because it interfered with everything else he wanted to do. The trees around him were decorated with Christmas lights, but the holiday cheer failed to lift his spirits.

The double-doors to the Locust Street office stood tall and Victorian, with understated wreaths hanging on each one. He pulled the left door open, barely breaking his stride, and took the stairs two at a time to his second-floor office.

As he passed the secretaries' desks, Mrs. Cope flagged him down.

"Professor Masen," she called out. "You have messages." She held them out as he passed.

Edward stretched his arm to grab them with a "Thank you" before continuing down the hall to his office.

"Professor?" Mrs. Cope said again. He stopped and looked at her expectantly.

"That woman from the record company called several times, and probably left some messages on your voicemail as well. She's quite persistent. I thought I'd warn you." Mrs. Cope sounded as if she disapproved of such aggressiveness. He hid his smile at her judgmental frown.

As soon as the door was unlocked, Edward threw down his satchel and hung up his coat. His office furnishings were sparse – a desk and chair, plus two other uncomfortable wooden straight-back seats. Two tall bookcases held books and folders jammed with sheet music. If he couldn't fit a piano in a room, he cared little about the rest of the decor.

Flipping through the messages he'd just received, he found a couple from his students and one from his dissertation advisor. Edward hoped his mother had called him back, but there was no note, and Mrs. Cope would be sure to write that down. He'd have to call her again.

There were several slips with the name "Bella Swan." Frowning, Edward tried to think whether he knew anyone named Bella Swan, until he saw the additional note his secretary had written: "From DigiClassic Music." This had to be the woman she was referring to.

He looked at his watch – it was almost four here on the East Coast, which meant it was nearly 1 p.m. in Seattle. Though a number of other pressing tasks demanded his attention, he set them aside. Edward's nerves tightened in a bundle in his stomach, but he was determined to get this done. He dialed the number, then sat back and waited.

A low, melodious voice answered, "Bella Swan."

He cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Miss- _Ms._ Swan. This is Edward Masen. I'm returning your call."

There was a brief beat of silence, and then he heard the same voice almost whisper, "Edward Masen." He waited, confused, until Bella cleared her throat and said, "Mr. Masen. Thank you for getting back to us today."

_Us?_ Edward thought.

"We received your letter-"

"Excuse me, but who's 'we'?" Edward asked, annoyed but polite.

"Carlisle Cullen and myself. Carlisle read your letter and was impressed with your credentials. He asked me to contact you, since I'm his A&R - artist and repertoire - vice president," she explained.

"I know what A&R means," Edward said irritably. Her condescension annoyed him even though he knew, at this point, she had the upper hand.

"Of course. I apologize," Bella said smoothly, shifting gears. "We'd both like to meet with you when you're in Seattle. Carlisle in particular is very much looking forward to hearing you play."

Edward was somewhat mollified. "I'm flying into Seattle on the 9th, when the semester is done. I'll have a few weeks before I have to return to Philadelphia. What day were you looking at?"

"How about the 11th?" she suggested.

"That would work." He hesitated, and tried to make his voice light. "So tell me: what will I have to do?"

"We'd like you to play several compositions – it's your choice as to what they will be. Whatever you think would sound best," she said. "Usually we record an artist and listen to the pieces several times. We make our decisions based on these auditions."

Bella knew Carlisle wanted Masen, and that it was her job to make sure DigiClassic signed him. But something kicked in during the middle of this conversation, and she found herself determined not to let Masen know that he was practically a shoo-in. _Let him work for it a little bit. _She suspected he'd really give them his best if he knew the contract hung in the balance. And based on what she'd seen on YouTube, his best would push the label's already sterling reputation into the stratosphere.

"Okay. I'm sure I can come up with some possibilities between now and then." Edward's throat suddenly felt dry.

"How about 11 a.m. on the 11th? Just to make it symmetrical," Bella said, trying for some levity. She offered to provide a car, but Edward declined. He preferred to have his own transportation; it made it easier to control his departure, if necessary.

Edward hated the whole idea of signing with a record company, but he was determined to pursue it. He'd go through with the audition and give them his best performance, which he knew would be substantial. There would be no question that he'd succeed.

After they hung up, Bella felt some pangs of worry. She didn't want to antagonize him. At the same time, it was also part of her job to make sure the talent didn't call all the shots with the company. She'd smooth the path for any artist who needed it, but not at the expense of her own reputation or the company that Carlisle worked so hard to build. No matter how excellent Masen was on the piano, she had to stay on guard.

Bella tried to put him out of her thoughts while she handled arrangements for other clients. A violinist who was performing with the Cleveland Orchestra called to complain that the supplies provided through the orchestra were inferior. Bella dispatched a contact to find better strings for his bow, though she highly doubted his complaints were accurate. Often it was better (and quicker) to appease the prima donna than to argue. In addition, a pianist who was on his way to San Francisco became stranded in Minnesota due to weather. She contacted the administrative director of the orchestra and explained the delay, knowing the pianist was in no frame of mind to do so.

Bella dodged the bullets, solved the problems and soothed the egos, but she never did manage to get Edward Masen completely out of her mind.

_April 2001 – Forks, WA_

Charlie and Bella Swan sat at their kitchen table, which was almost completely covered with letters, forms and catalogues.

"I'm sorry, Bells," Charlie said, pushing his chair back. He ran his hands through his hair a couple of times out of sheer frustration. He hated failing his daughter like this – his only child, who deserved so much better.

"It's okay, Dad," Bella said automatically, fighting her tears and disappointment. "I know there isn't anything you can do."

"I looked at it every way I can," Charlie said. "I worked these numbers up and down, but honey, neither of these schools will give you enough money to cover your expenses. " He gestured to the letters from the New England Conservatory of Music and Oberlin College.

"Dad, don't worry about it." Bella covered his hand with hers.

"I wish I could help you out more. Your mom's life insurance policy didn't leave us much. And I'm afraid I've got almost nothing saved," Charlie said, shaking his head.

"I'll just go to UW. They have a good music program, and they'll give me enough for just about everything. Really, I'd be stupid to turn it down." Bella pushed aside her deep desire to leave Washington and study at one of the best music schools in the country. Her talents on the cello were apparently good enough to have her way paid by the State of Washington, but not any top institutions.

Charlie looked miserable. "Hey," she said, nudging him with her shoulder. "It means I can come home some weekends and holidays, too. You won't be rid of me that fast."

He put his arm around her and kissed her forehead affectionately. "Well, that's a relief," he said.

Bella managed a weak smile for her father. She thought perhaps she was almost as good at acting as she was at music.

_December 2010 – Seattle_

Her day planner lay on Bella's desk with a packed "to do" list for every hour through the next two weeks. Fortunately, Christmas Eve fell on a Friday, and DigiClassic's offices were closed. She'd get up early and drive to Forks to spend Christmas weekend with Charlie. Bella wrote a note to check online for the fishing lures she knew her father had his eye on. Thank goodness Charlie was so predictable. It made things like Christmas and his birthday a lot easier to take care of.

Several post-it notes were stuck to the entries for the past couple of days to ensure she didn't forget anything for Edward Masen's audition. The recording studios occupied two floors below the administrative offices; the suites were well-equipped, and Bella booked the top sound engineers for the 11 a.m. appointment. She'd reserved a studio that contained a fine Steinway grand piano. She was anxious to hear him play on the best instrument owned by the most prestigious classical recording studio in the country.

When the receptionist called to inform her that Edward Masen had arrived, Bella remained at her desk for another few minutes, partly to think and partly to refrain from appearing overeager. Her gaze fell on a cork bulletin board to the right of her desk.

At the start of her employment with DigiClassic, Bella began collecting pins from musical institutions she'd visited for interviews and prospects. Now they crowded the bulletin board, arranged in a pattern that mimicked the geographic layout of the United States. She touched the tips of her fingers to the New England Conservatory pin before gathering her organizer and heading downstairs to finally meet Edward Masen.

Normally, facing a new prospect generated a particular kind of excitement. Bella loved that feeling of discovery, of finding a talent whose light had previously remained under a bushel of anonymity. But today, there was an extra layer of anticipation that kept her stomach fluttering for the brief elevator descent to the lobby. She noticed that her legs felt almost leaden, as if they were reluctant to move.

_This is odd…Am I nervous?_

She rounded the corner at the far end of the elevator hall and stopped.

Edward Masen stood with his back to her, carefully reading the short biographies that accompanied pictures of DigiClassic's major artists. The large color photos hung on a wall display at the opposite end of the room from where Bella stood, so she was able to watch him unnoticed. She recognized his hair – it was a bold shade of auburn, and locks of it stood out at rebellious angles all over his head.

Suddenly, Edward turned around and looked straight at Bella, where she waited without understanding her own uncertainty. He regarded the lovely brunette who stood in the recess of the hallway, watching him. Edward had little idea of what to expect from a record company executive, but Bella Swan seemed very pleasing. She exuded warmth from clear across the lobby. He saw it in her eyes – large and brown, even at this distance – and her expression, and even in the way she held herself.

He stepped in her direction, then hesitated.

The intensity of his stare rooted her to the spot, and Bella felt that this silent exchange was the first, and more important, introduction they'd have. Something told her to savor this moment before the realities of business shaped the way they would be with each other. Bella drank in the small intimacy of it for just a few more seconds before speaking.

"Mr. Masen?" she asked, the question a formality. Bella extended her hand, and Edward immediately took it in his own, infusing her with heat and a tingling sensation that practically reached to her elbow. His long fingers curled around her palm until they touched the outside of her hand. She could feel their strength even though his grip was gentle and polite.

"Yes. Ms. Swan?" The smoky richness of his voice almost destroyed her business mindset. Bella frantically pulled together her professionalism and cleared her throat.

"Please, call me Bella."

"You as well," he said, tipping his head to her.

"You want me to call you Bella?" she inquired, more flirtatiously than she knew was appropriate.

He laughed, and the timbre of it was exactly as she'd hoped. "No, I mean – please call me Edward."

She warmed to his smile, which was wide and appreciative. "The studios are just a couple of floors up. Carlisle Cullen will meet us there," she said, gesturing toward the elevators.

Edward nodded and clutched his messenger bag tightly. He was suddenly nervous even though he'd never been anxious about performing, not even when he auditioned for his school admissions. It always came so naturally to him that he never had to worry about it. There was a great deal more riding on this, though.

When the elevator doors opened, Bella stepped ahead and led Edward to Studio 3, the largest and most technically advanced facility that DigiClassic owned. She unlocked the main door to the engineering suite, where she immediately called Carlisle to let him know Edward had arrived.

The studio was visible through the glass that separated the two rooms of the suite. Bella caught the look of appreciation that swept over Edward's features when he saw the grand piano that occupied much of it.

"Come," she said softly. "Let me introduce you to what you'll be playing, before Carlisle gets here." She gestured toward the piano.

"This is a Steinway Model D," he said reverently, passing his hand over the top.

"Yes. We give our artists the best to work with," Bella said, delighting in his expression. Edward's gaze was entirely focused on the piano, with a look that is normally reserved for the love of one's life.

_And perhaps it is,_ Bella mused. She found herself wondering who this man was. Brilliant musicians could be eccentric, prickly, demanding, and mind-numbingly frustrating. Often, their humanity wasn't terribly visible, but their talent made up for it. Where did Edward fall on that spectrum? What - or who - else was important to him in his life?

The studio door closed, and Carlisle briefly touched Bella's elbow in acknowledgement before striding over to Edward, his hand outstretched.

A different look of awe came over Edward's face. "Carlisle Cullen!" he exclaimed before Carlisle could speak.

"That's me," Carlisle said, smiling broadly. "And I assume you are Edward Masen?"

"You played the definitive version of Holst's 'The Planets' in 1981. You and _Glenn Gould,_" Edward said, his eyes wide. "It was in Toronto, right?"

Carlisle smiled and glanced down at the floor. "Thank you," he said modestly. "Yes, we did that piece in Toronto. It was one of the best nights of my life."

"It's brilliant," Edward said in a rush. "It's so inspirational. My mother has all your recordings. I'm so sorry you're not playing anymore," he added sincerely. "You're among the best of all time."

"You're very kind," Carlisle responded, still smiling. "I still play, just not professionally."

"Of course," said Edward, suddenly embarrassed. "I apologize."

"No need," Carlisle said kindly. "I couldn't live without playing. Now I just do it for my own enjoyment, or my family's. Arthritis does impose its limitations." He clapped his hands together energetically. "So! I can't tell you how eagerly we've been waiting for _you_ to play for us, Edward. What will you start with?"

Edward pulled out a folder with sheets of music inside. "I'll be playing 'The Mephisto'."

Bella noticed Carlisle's smile grow wider. He was enjoying Edward's bravado.

She, however, thought Edward was either insane or the victim of a self-confidence that was beyond measure. "Mephisto" was complicated, layered, and difficult for even the most accomplished pianist. The only musician she'd ever known who could master it was Horowitz. _If Masen can pull this one off…_ she thought, and gave a minute shake of her head.

Edward arranged the sheet music on the piano and positioned himself on the bench. The recording engineers had arrived with Carlisle, who returned to the engineering booth with Bella.

With no prologue, Edward launched into the staccato opening of "Mephisto." Bella and Carlisle listened, entranced, while the notes flew; the almost discordant sounds and rampant scales tripping off of his fingers as if they were launched, not played.

The music soared, then gentled, as Edward leaned and moved with its direction. There was no one else in the room; no one else in the world as far as he was concerned. Bella knew it before she saw it in his face. He'd given himself over to the composition.

The song moved along with each tempo change in quick succession, but Edward more than kept up with it – he commanded it, soothed it, teased it out of the keys. Bella watched as the passion poured forth from Edward's body. His eyes were closed in intense concentration; his entire body stirred with each musical phrase. Even the engineers were enraptured and silent, watching Edward instead of the meters on the board.

He brought them all to the edge of the cliff, and then stopped where Liszt had ended it. Edward remained motionless, hunched over the piano keys.

A minute of silence hung in the air.

"I think we've found our next artist," Carlisle said softly.

Bella stirred when Carlisle spoke. Without thinking, she pulled open the door to the studio and hurried to where Edward sat, still facing the piano.

She opened her mouth but couldn't think of a response adequate for what she'd just heard.

"Very impressive, Mr. Masen," she finally said, despising her words for their weakness.

Edward stood awkwardly. "Thank you," he replied. "I have some other pieces I'd like to play…"

Carlisle walked in, watching the two of them with a small smile. "What else did you have in mind, Edward?"

"Well…um…" Under Bella's constant gaze, Edward suddenly seemed flustered. "I thought I'd try Chopin's Prelude Number 4."

"Very nice," Carlisle nodded in appreciation. "A somber piece, but lovely." He motioned for Bella to follow him. "Let's allow Edward to play the rest of what he's prepared for us."

They returned to the engineering room as Edward began the slow introduction to Chopin. "We should have the legal department draft the contracts as soon as possible," Carlisle said.

"I'll get on that as soon as we're done," Bella replied.

The two of them had already discussed the terms that DigicClassic would offer: a $1 million, two-year contract, with exclusive rights to the company for two records. He would receive a generous percentage from the sale of his CDs. The revenue from any live performances would be split between DigiClassic, the artist, and the venue.

The question now was whether the terms would be acceptable to Edward.

Carlisle led them to his office, giving measured but meaningful praise for Edward's audition. Bella knew he was trying to gauge the pianist's mood, and she nervously glanced Edward's way almost every fourth step along the hall. He remained silent, and she detected a tension in his posture that she couldn't read.

She wished she knew what to say to Edward, but as long as she couldn't yet accurately read his mood, she knew it was smarter to remain silent. She felt slightly thrown off her game in his presence. In the last hours since they'd met, she found it difficult to concentrate on her actual job.

Bella stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, arms crossed, merely listening while her boss and Edward discussed music, the industry, composition, and teaching. A secretary brought in the legal documents, and Carlisle skimmed through them to make sure everything was in order. Before handing them over, he said, "I want you to know, Edward, that we genuinely value our artists here. I have no interest in cheating anyone."

"I would never think otherwise," Edward said, a puzzled look on his face.

Bella knew for certain at that point that he'd never worked with an agent or another recording company. Carlisle prided himself on fairness and honesty, but artists generally didn't trust in that at signing. Time and experience proved that he stood behind his promises.

"I've been in your shoes, and I know what it's like to suddenly have to deal with the business end of music, after you've spent your life playing for the love of it. Please be sure to have your attorneys look these over carefully. I think they'll agree it's all very fair." Carlisle picked up a notepad and pen. "Who represents you? I need to note the firm's name for our file."

Edward hesitated. "I don't really have a personal attorney," he finally said. "I'll probably ask someone from my father's company to review these."

Bella was amazed. This went beyond inexperience. She'd naturally assumed Edward had an attorney on retainer.

Carlisle remained silent for another beat. "By any chance, are you related to EA Masen Industries?" he finally asked.

"Yes," Edward said cautiously. "My father's the president."

Bella tried again not to register shock. Edward was no poor but brilliant graduate student. He came from several generations of wealth amassed from the rich minerals and resources of the Pacific Northwest.

"That's a company that's been around for quite a long time."

"It was founded by my great-grandfather," Edward said, apparently waiting to see where Carlisle was taking this.

"Very reputable," Carlisle responded, nodding in agreement. "And while I'm sure your attorneys are among the best, they may not have much expertise in music contract law. You may want to ask one of them to refer you to a firm with more relevant experience," he added diplomatically.

Edward nodded tersely. "Of course. Thank you for your advice."

Bella offered to take him back downstairs, still reeling from the news that he was from one of Seattle's oldest, wealthiest families. Even though Edward Anthony Masen III rarely appeared in the society news columns that often mentioned his parents, she should have recognized him.

She was determined to not let his background affect her, though, particularly while his relationship with DigiClassic was in its early stages.

Bella retrieved Edward's coat from the receptionist, and turned to face him fully for the first time since they'd met hours earlier. He was staring at her intently, his head leaning slightly toward her. Unique green eyes looked as if they were trying to read something from her own face.

She blushed and glanced at the floor briefly to regain her composure. "Edward, if you do sign with us – and I hope you do-" she said emphatically.

"I believe I will," he interrupted.

Bella paused, a little thrilled at his eagerness. "We'll have to talk carefully about what compositions you'll play for your recording. I'll be working with you, if you have no objection." There was no way on earth Bella would let some underling take _that_ assignment.

"I'd like that," he replied quietly, still with that intense gaze. It didn't wash over Bella so much as envelope her like a velvet blanket.

_How does he _do_ that?_ Bella thought, still flustered.

She slowly offered her hand in farewell. He responded by grasping it in his own warm hand for a moment – enough for Bella to again get the feel of those long, resolute fingers. She felt a quick shiver that ran down the length of her body.

"I'll be in touch with you, Edward."

He nodded. "You have my cell number. I'll be in Seattle for the next several weeks." He backed away for a couple of steps as if reluctant to break their connection, then turned and strode out the revolving doors of the building.

Bella returned to her office with her mind in a thousand different places. Edward taught, but he didn't need the money. He could compose and play for every waking hour of his existence and never have to worry about making a living. She couldn't understand how someone would forgo that life, but she didn't know Edward well enough to guess his reasons, but she wanted to know them. And him.

_He's a client. You can't dip your toe in that water._

But Edward seemed a mystery that was worth the risk. She wanted to get closer to his brilliance, of course, to be in real proximity to his musical genius. Yet there was much more to it than that. The passion she'd seen as he played spoke to a particular longing of her own.

Edward drove back to his parents' home with his own inner turmoil. He felt foolish over his lack of business acumen. His main concern was getting them to see that his talent merited a contract. He was very confident about his musical abilities, but he'd never thought beyond that to the business end of the music industry, as Carlisle called it.

He had little choice but to follow Carlisle's advice and find a good lawyer. That meant informing his father of this conversation with DigiClassic's representatives, a prospect that Edward held in the same regard as removing his own fingernails with pliers. The elder Masen was sure to ignore Edward's accomplishment with the record company in favor of highlighting his son's folly in revealing his lack of legal proficiency.

There wasn't much Edward was looking forward to about this whole process. Possibly, the saving grace was the woman he'd just met. She intrigued him. He felt both soothed and enervated by her, and the only thing that would calm that contradiction would be playing the piano in her presence again.

In just a few days, Carlisle alerted Bella that he'd received the signed documents that legally made Edward a DigiClassic artist. He noted with silent amusement the look of relief on her face, and recognized it as more than the satisfaction of signing an excellent musician.

Bella found herself in the odd, dating-like limbo of wondering whether she should call Edward or wait for him to call her. She finally screwed up her courage - a feeling she was also unaccustomed to - and called him to set up the appointment to discuss the first CD.

They arranged to meet on the 16th, and Bella noted that DigiClassic's annual holiday party would be held that following Saturday.

"As our newest artist, you're certainly invited," she told him. "In fact, we really want you to come."

"I'm not much of a social events person," Edward demurred. "Is this a requirement?"

"No, of course not," Bella said as she scrambled to think of a way to convince him to come. It wasn't just to show him off. She knew she was creating ways that they could see each other under very legitimate circumstances. But she could also feel his reticence across the phone line, and she tried to put him at ease about it.

"It's not a huge affair," she assured him. "And it's definitely not limited to lawyers and engineers. Quite a few of our artists show up. We try to keep it intimate and enjoyable."

Bella hoped she wasn't lying. It wasn't always easy to predict what faction of the DigiClassic community would predominate at the holiday party. One year, when a lot of engineers showed up, a heated argument broke out over which "Star Wars" film was the best. It took months for Bella to recover from that.

At least, she knew she'd at least see Edward in a few days. She reserved a small conference room and cleared her schedule for that day.

**Thank you for reading! The next chapter will be posted next week.**

**I could never have written this without piperann_25, who helped me understand the soul of a musician and recommended a number of great classical compositions. Thanks also to chriserlyn for her music suggestions.**

**Finally, thank you to my beta, writingbabe, and my prereader, isabeausink. They willingly dove into a 17,000-word "one shot" and emerged with many great edits and suggestions to improve this story. As always, I owe them an enormous debt for their insight, encouragement, and most of all, their friendship.**

**You can still donate to Alex's Lemonade Stand!**

**.org/**

18


	2. The Second Movement

**The Second Movement**

Bella stared out the window across from her desk, watching the winter rain pound the glass. Seattle weather was at its gloomiest at the most wonderful time of the year, but it couldn't douse the small yet distinct feeling at the pit of her stomach. She was excited.

Normally, Bella would be edgy before meeting with artists, because they often had wholly impractical musical choices for their CD and she had to talk them down from the trees. It was a negotiation process fraught with only slightly less tension than Middle Eastern peace talks, often with a reduced chance of agreement.

Today, Bella looked forward to it. She was eager to see what Edward wanted to include. His selections would reveal a lot about his own preferences, and Bella wanted to know more about them. And she was very anxious to discuss music with him. Just being able to explore his insights on composers and songs made her feel more alive than she had in ages.

She skimmed through the documents in the folder she'd created for suggestions and recommendations. Bella had even conferred with Carlisle, knowing how much respect Edward had for his talent and experience. Except for one suggestion, Carlisle deferred to her own capabilities and told her to let him know what they came up with. He said she and Edward would do better on their own.

Bella wondered about that.

She met Edward in the lobby, anticipation weaving through her like a vine. He looked the same, but different, Bella thought in surprise. His features were still astonishingly flawless, but they were less guarded. He looked at her with recognition now, and it softened his expression.

They made small talk as they rode the elevator, with Edward stealing frequent glances and Bella looking resolutely at the floor. Her earlier confidence seemed subdued by nervousness – or what he assumed was nervousness. He liked what it did to the apples of her cheeks, making them flame brighter whenever she sensed he was looking at her.

She gestured toward the conference room down the hall. "We have a good sound system here with a huge library if we want to listen to particular compositions."

The room was appointed with a large table and comfortable chairs. Though Edward would have preferred to sit next to her, he grabbed a chair across the table and spread out his handwritten notes for the meeting. Without asking, Bella placed a bottle of water next to him, and he glanced up at her in appreciation.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked, pausing with a carafe in one hand and a mug in another.

"No, thanks," he said distractedly. His hands moved frequently of their own volition, as if searching for keys to play.

"A Seattle native who turns down a cup of coffee? You've been living on the East Coast for too long," Bella said teasingly.

Edward smiled at her effort to put him at ease. "I've had a few cups this morning, and since people seem to think I'm already high-strung, I thought it best if I decline."

"Really?" she said, sliding into her chair opposite him. "I wouldn't have thought that. You seem fairly contemplative."

"Only between freakouts."

Bella laughed, peals of full-bodied delight. "I've managed my share of those. I don't see you as the type to throw epic temper tantrums."

"I don't do it publicly. I leave that to my students," he said, grinning.

"Are they that bad?" she said curiously.

"No, I'm being facetious," he said, still smiling. "The quality of students you get at a place like Curtis – you really don't have to worry about that sort of thing. "

"It's an excellent school – among the best of its kind," Bella said cordially.

"Absolutely," Edward said with a firm nod of his head. "I couldn't really consider teaching anywhere else. Not anywhere that wasn't on the same level."

Bella raised her eyebrows. "I'm sure there are outstanding students at schools all over," she said.

"Not of this caliber. The top tier students go to the top tier schools, and that's really all there is to it," he replied in an offhand manner.

It took an extra few seconds for Bella to realize what she'd heard. She blinked, hard. That snobbish remark put a few cracks in his perfect veneer, and it hurt. She was disappointed, almost to the point of feeling sick.

"I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree on that," she said shortly. Edward frowned, catching the change in her tone. He could tell he'd angered her somehow, and he realized too late that his words may have sounded judgmental.

"Not that there aren't _good_ music students elsewhere," he added hastily.

"Of course," Bella responded smoothly. She couldn't resist adding, "Some of them may even be fortunate enough to encounter you some day."

Edward had the vague feeling he'd been insulted, though her demeanor stayed polite.

_I'm going to do my damndest to forget this part of our conversation_. Bella managed a smile and promptly changed the subject. "Let's get started," she said. "I have some ideas, but I'd like to hear what you think first."

Edward sensed she was throwing him a lifesaver. He nodded and cleared his throat. "I've thought about this a great deal in the past few months, ever since I wrote that letter to Carlisle. I think I've got it narrowed down."

He explained that he wanted to include Liszt's "Mephisto," the very selection he'd played that guaranteed his contract, and to his relief, Bella readily agreed. He wasn't a precise judge of women's moods, but it seemed like she was willing to move past the exchange that annoyed her five minutes ago.

Edward brought up some of his favorite Bach – "French Suite No. 3" and "English Suite No. 6," and Bella nodded her head thoughtfully. "They're lively, energetic – they'll showcase your talent very nicely," she said. They discussed some other Bach selections before settling on the "Adagio after Marcello."

To Edward's surprise, Bella then suggested including some Beethoven and Brahms into the mix.

"I wouldn't want to see you pigeonholed as a pianist who plays only one or two composers. We need to show your versatility," she explained.

Edward looked somewhat taken aback, as if this hadn't occurred to him, and Bella again got the distinct feeling that he hadn't planned everything out very well. His knowledge of professional recording seemed limited.

Most artists would have explored this thoroughly, if only by seeing what other musicians in the same genre had on their recordings. Considering that research should be second-nature to Edward, who was a PhD student, Bella was rather confused.

She was still indignant over his casual snobbishness, and it gave her enough nerve to bring a few things out in the open. "Edward, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he responded so carefully that Bella knew he wasn't sure at all.

"Do you really want to do this? Do you really want to record this CD? "

He looked astonished, and Bella held her breath. She may have taken things a bit too far by insulting a very important new artist - one whom her boss especially took a shine to.

"Why would you ask me that?" Edward said warily.

"There have been some times during this process where it hasn't seemed as if you've really thought things through. And I get the sense that's not your normal way of doing things," she said gently. "I can see how much music means to you. I know you want to do this right. Yet you came to us without obtaining any suitable legal representation. And while you're self-assured about your own skills, you haven't looked at the bigger picture and considered what to offer the classical music lovers of the world – the ones who'll be buying this CD."

Edward looked away and felt a blush creep along his neck. She'd seen his inexperience as thoroughly as if he'd worn it, like a shirt.

But when he looked back up into Bella's eyes, he saw no judgment there, only genuine concern and curiosity. He might have assumed that Bella was trying to protect the company's investment, but her steady gaze had more depth than that. And in some ways, it was a relief to have her see through him, as if he didn't have to hide from her.

He felt compelled to tell her the truth.

"This wasn't my idea; it's true," he admitted. "But I do want this wholeheartedly." He paused to think of how to explain it to her.

"My mother has been my inspiration and my biggest supporter in my musical career," he said. "My father –well, he views it as more of a hobby. Or, he thinks it should be a hobby. He thinks I should have more gainful employment." A look of disgust, then pain darkened Edward's features.

Bella wondered how a committed industrialist like Edward Masen II dealt with having an artistic genius for a son. Not well, she surmised.

At once, so much of Edward fell into place right in front of her. The wealthy young man who was never seen at the same glittering events as his parents; the doctoral student who also labored as a teacher clear across the country from his family; the pianist with the strongest intuitive aptitude for music she'd ever witnessed, who just showed up on the company doorstep – he'd had his own share of struggles. He'd come from a background of privilege, but it was not without its price.

"My mother and I are very close," he continued. "She's been ill, and it's not entirely clear she's going to recover. She's always wanted this for me. I want to give this to her, for all she's done for me."

And with that, Bella felt herself soften once more. She could see the pain he was in, and it made it that much easier to forgive his earlier words – the careless ones that cut to the heart of the education she had to settle for.

"So you're doing this for her," she said quietly.

Edward blew out a heavy breath. "Honestly? Mostly, I am. It's like a big part of her dream for me. She thinks it's very prestigious. All I want to do is compose and teach. And play," he said simply.

Bella nodded. She understood the necessity of doing things that weren't part of the plan while your true calling waited in the wings. And she knew all too well how the ties that bound you to your parents also restricted your own hands.

"I know how you feel. My mother died a while ago, and if I was in your situation, I would feel the same," she said emotionally.

Edward regarded her with deep compassion. "I'm so sorry. That's a really hard loss," he said, then added, "I can't bear to think about it."

Impulsively, Bella reached over the table and covered his hand with her own. "I really hope your mom does well. I'm sure she's so proud of you. Let's give her a CD that she'll really love."

Edward moved so his palm was up and he could hold Bella's warm hand in his own. "Thank you," he whispered. She nodded mutely while his green-eyed gaze held her own. After a few more seconds, she glanced away.

Then she couldn't help it - she had to look at Edward again. He hadn't stopped staring at her, and she wanted so much to keep this moment right here, as it was, even if it had its start in sorrowful memories. Reluctantly, she cleared her throat.

"Let's get back to this," she said, gesturing to the notes they'd been taking. "We were talking about how it's important to have some variety on your album."

There was one idea that Carlisle had given her prior to this meeting. Thankfully, she hadn't put it on the table yet, and she now saw it as a way to cheer Edward up.

"I have another suggestion that was made by Carlisle. He'd like to duet with you on 'The Planets.' Are you interested?"

Bella's heart lifted when she saw the joy return to Edward's eyes. "Carlisle wants to play the Holst pieces with me? On the CD?"

"That's right." She smiled in response to his huge grin.

"Yes. _Yes!_ Damn, that would be amazing. Bella, thank you! You made my day!"

She blushed and ducked her head. "Thank Carlisle. He doesn't usually make this kind of offer to our artists. He has a lot of faith in you."

"I'm floored," Edward said. "He's played with some of the best artists there've ever been."

"I think you'll duet beautifully together. It'll be an outstanding piece to include on this CD, and one that people will appreciate for years to come."

They turned the discussion back to other musical selections, and finally settled on Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 8 in C Minor and Brahms' Intermezzo No. 2. These were compositions Edward had played before, and while he knew he'd have to review and practice them, he was confident he had enough of a connection with the music that he could make them his own.

Hours had gone by – hours of talking about music, both specific and general, before it was time for Edward to leave. He was astonished at the amount of arrangements – above and beyond the instrumental type – that went into creating a CD.

Fortunately, Bella seemed very familiar with it all. As he left, Edward thought of how comfortable he felt with her throughout the course of the meeting. In spite of that moment when it almost went off the rails, he realized he'd spoken more with her than he had with any other woman for longer than he could remember.

It was only later that he realized he hadn't asked much about her background. She was apparently well-versed in classical music and training; and he could see her musical sensibilities were very similar to his own. But what of the rest of her life? What did she do when she wasn't soothing or stroking other musicians? And why didn't he think to find all this out when he'd had the chance? He'd been so busy talking about himself that he forgot to listen to her.

This was how Edward decided to attend the DigiClassic holiday party. He wasn't fond of festivities, but he wanted to see Bella again, and he wasn't inclined to wait until another business meeting.

For Bella, the party usually meant a long Saturday with a lot of extra work. Although the brunt of the organization was left to the company's administrative unit, Bella had to pay special attention to the artists who attended. This year, she hardly minded this part of the job. Edward Masen had RSVP'd that he'd be there.

Though it was not his usual habit, Edward arrived early, hoping he'd see Bella before the party started.

It occurred to him, as he parked his car in the garage down the block from DigiClassic, that she might be otherwise occupied. She seemed to be an inherent part of the company – a person whom Carlisle relied on in all ways – so she would probably have a lot of responsibility to make sure the event was a success.

Edward shook his head at his own inexperience once again. He'd never been a part of this world, and he knew so little about it. Well, he was here now; there was nothing to do but head into the building and hang around until the event started and he could find something to focus on - or a suitable place to hide.

He took the elevator to the top floor where the ballroom was located. As he stepped out into the hallway, he heard a lot of bustle and loud voices off to his right. Edward immediately felt self-conscious and returned to the elevator. He stopped one floor down to find a restroom where he could kill some time.

The hallway moved straight ahead for about twenty feet before it turned to the right, then left. Edward grew more frustrated, feeling suddenly as if he was stuck in a maze in a place that made him very nervous. And he found no evidence of a lavatory.

As he walked to the end of the hallway, Edward heard the faint but distinct sound of string music. Instinctively, he moved in its direction, as the melody grew stronger.

Almost immediately, he recognized the strains of Bach's "Suite for Solo Cello No. 1 in G Major". The music was perfect; played without error or hesitation.

Every door on each side of the hall had glass windows, and each opened to a small room for play or rehearsal. It became an almost desperate game for him to find the source of the music – it was beautiful, engaging, tantalizing. Finally, he threw another frustrated glance through the last door on his right, sure it would be another empty room. Instead, he saw a woman in a deep red dress, playing the cello.

It took only another few seconds for him to realize it was Bella.

She was sitting so he saw her in profile. The cello, which could be ungainly in the wrong hands, stood between her knees, resting against her chest and shoulder. Her head was bent over the instrument, her eyes closed as she drew the bow over to bring forth one of the best renditions of the Bach suite that Edward had ever heard.

He watched, mesmerized, as her small fingers danced over the strings. She was playing the Prelude – no, she was commanding it, drawing out the elegant, almost mournful tune in perfect time.

Edward was stunned. A mix of emotions more potent than he'd ever remembered coursed through him. He was moved by the beauty of the great composer's work, interpreted so faultlessly. He had no idea Bella played any instrument, and certainly not this perfectly. _Why is she working for these people instead of playing?_ She was clearly gifted.

_Why didn't she tell me?_ The fact that they hadn't known each other long at all didn't matter. Edward felt slighted that she'd never brought it up in their music discussions.

Something else stirred in him as well. The sight of this attractive, petite woman in a ruby-red dress, holding a large, masculine-sounding instrument between her legs, was more than a little erotic.

The prelude was over, and Bella gently moved the cello away from her. As she stood, she saw Edward's shocked face staring at her through the window in the door. For a moment, the two of them just watched each other, stunned.

She took in his tall figure, impossibly handsome in a form-fitting dark suit, the jacket buttoned over a white shirt and tie. Then Bella looked away, blushing.

She maneuvered her cello into the case as Edward flung open the door, nearly running into the room until he stopped a few steps away from her.

"You- that was you? Playing just now?" he said, in half-sentences.

"Yup. All me," Bella said, attempting a playful tone.

"You never told me you could play!" It came out far more accusatory than Edward intended, and Bella straightened up from where she'd bent to pick up the bow.

"I suppose the subject never came up," she responded drily.

Edward drew back in shock. "We've talked about nothing but music since we met!" he exclaimed.

"We talked about _your_ music," she corrected him. Bella closed the large case, then carefully put it in a closet.

"I'd love to hear more about yours. I had no idea you were so incredibly talented," he murmured, stung by her indifference.

She turned quickly to look at him, her eyebrows arched. "Well, you can be excused for never hearing about me. I wasn't a top student who went to a high-end school," she snapped.

Edward leaned back and banged his head against the wall, closing his eyes. His own words came back at him, sharp and now embedded in his embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I mean…Bella, I had no idea."

She nodded. "Exactly. You made a few assumptions that I know are unfair. All the same, I'm used to it. I've heard those sentiments before."

He lifted his hand in a useless gesture of apology. "I know I can be a little…in my own world about things like this."

"I'm used to that in musicians, too. Really, Edward, it's okay." Bella didn't want to let him off the hook that easily. She was enjoying his unease a little. More than that, she wanted to see how hard he fought to get her to believe him.

"So I guess you've got all musicians tagged this way, huh?" He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "We're all close-minded snobs?"

Bella shrugged. "Like you said – in your own world."

"And that's all there is to it," he said, this time echoing his own words.

Bella opened her mouth to respond, then shut it. She knew what he meant: she was stereotyping him just as he'd done to her and thousands of other "second tier" music students. Point taken but not acknowledged.

She turned and walked out of the room.

Edward caught up to her and pulled at her arm. "I don't know what you really think of me-" he began, then stopped, because he couldn't think of what else he wanted to say. Or rather, he knew what he wanted to say, but he didn't want to say it here, in this room, where their time was limited because the party was about to start.

"Why do you want to know?" she asked. They were facing each other.

"Because it _matters_ to me. What you think is important to me, and God, Bella, that's the first thing besides music that's counted in my life for as long as I can remember." He was holding her arms near her elbows; involuntarily, he rubbed his hands along her forearms. She still said nothing, but she shivered almost imperceptibly at his touch.

"Could we talk more after the party?" Edward's voice had dropped to a husky low as he stared in her eyes.

Bella nodded. She couldn't hold him off any more, nor could she hold herself away from him. It was impossible to give in to this attraction and impossible to deny it.

Hesitantly, he picked up his hand and slowly caressed her cheek with his long, glorious, cool pianist fingers. Bella closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, then opened them.

"Edward," she said in an agonized whisper, "I have to go-"

"I know. You have to work tonight," he said, nodding. "Later?"

"Yes. Later," she said, the word a whispered promise.

Bella led the way back to the ballroom, where she was immediately rushed by her assistant, Angela, who pleaded for help with the recalcitrant caterer. After giving Edward a look of apology, Bella receded into her work persona, where she stayed for the next several hours.

Involuntarily, she would glance around the room every so often to find him. It was as if she was naturally orienting herself to him. He'd become her axis, even if the line connecting them was crooked; and she thought this feeling – this belief in their connection – might last way longer than the evening.

This year, musicians dominated the party's guest list. Bella was rather glad, thinking this would make it easier for Edward. It was that orienting thing again, she thought ruefully. She watched as he spoke with another pianist, Eric Yorkie, whom she'd signed two years before. Vaguely, she wondered if they were talking about her at all. Then, Edward was lost in discussion with Carlisle. She felt relieved; Carlisle would look out for him when she couldn't.

Regardless of who he spoke with or where he was, Edward watched as Bella worked the room. He knew without looking at his watch that she spent no less than three but no more than four minutes with each artist present, and his or her guest. No one else noticed that she accepted numerous drinks from the open bar and then discreetly handed them off to waiters after taking only a few sips from each. Most of all, he watched her face. She smiled and listened intently to every person she came across. He liked how her eyes stayed focused on the person without wandering or looking for the next client to move on to.

As the time drew closer to 11, the crowd thinned out. Edward watched as one by one, the couples or groups took their coats and shook Bella's hand, then Carlisle's. He pretended to take a great interest in how the bartender packed up the unused clean glasses, placing them in small compartments within cardboard boxes.

Finally, he and Bella were among the last people in the ballroom. She was talking with Carlisle, who glanced up as Edward drew near. Carlisle looked sidelong at Bella, who seemed to forget their conversation about DigiClassic's annual report.

"Well," he said, trying to conceal his grin, "Esme and I must be going. Once again, you've done an outstanding job, my dear." He embraced Bella, then gave Edward a quick clap on the back. "Edward, I'm so glad you came tonight. I hope you enjoyed yourself. I'll leave you and Bella to close down the joint." His eyes twinkled, and Bella smiled at how they seemed to reflect the small Christmas lights strung around the ballroom.

Bella motioned toward the back of the room, near some windows that had a lovely view of Seattle and Puget Sound. "How about if we sit down for a bit?" she asked.

"Sounds good." Edward put his hand on the small of Bella's back to guide her toward two seats facing the glass.

Without warning, one of the staff shut off the overhead lights. Only the holiday decorations remained glowing. Bella turned to ask them to switch them back on, but Edward stopped her.

"Leave them off. It's nice like this." He was right; the small Christmas lights provided tiny green, red and white points throughout the room. Their minimal wattage barely illuminated Edward's face.

Bella suddenly felt shy, almost self-conscious. This was as intimate as she and Edward had been so far. The dim room, the sudden quiet, and even the small amount of alcohol heightened her awareness of the man next to her.

She drew in a breath and liked the sensations of it. Edward still bore the scents of aftershave, a clean shirt, and whatever it was that he'd put in his hair to calm it down. Bella had to resist the urge to lean into him and rest her head on his chest.

"Why didn't you play for the party tonight?" he suddenly asked.

"I never do," she said, shaking her head. "It's something I keep apart from my work."

"Why?" Edward couldn't fathom having a talent like Bella's and not enjoying it every day, as much as possible.

She paused a moment before answering. "I think I need to have them see me as a business person here," she said, musing. "I don't want my work life to get confused with my personal life."

Edward glanced at her quickly, and she blushed. "I mean, they look to me as a person who arranges things, gets everything straightened out for them. I don't want to muddy the waters."

"How could it muddy the waters if they saw how good you are? Don't you think the musicians would feel like you understand them better if they heard you play?"

Bella looked uncomfortable. "Sometimes I have to say no to them. I don't want them appealing to me on some emotional basis as a fellow musician."

"Because they'd try to manipulate you?"

"Some of them might, yes." Bella was distinctly uneasy with this line of conversation. In truth, she didn't like keeping her musical abilities hidden. But she resisted any possibility that she would be taken advantage of. She felt a strong need to separate business from pleasure. Tonight, sitting here with Edward, was the first time she could recall breaking that rule.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "How can you keep that separate? I heard you play just this once, and I felt it. I know it's in your being like it's in mine. Nobody gets to that level unless they live it."

"I do it on my own time."

"Do you have enough of it, though?"

Bella was silent.

Edward sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. You probably think it's none of my business. I'm going out on a limb here. But you should be playing all day, every day." He wanted to tell her she was wasting her time, but he thought perhaps that was going too far, so he held back.

"Do you compose?" he asked, trying a different tack.

"Not much, no. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a composer. I love playing what other people have written. There is already so much that's brilliant."

Edward nodded. "There's nothing like it in the world. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't play music," he said softly. "I can't imagine a life without it."

"You're an extraordinary talent," Bella said. "You're like a triple threat of composing, playing and interpreting. I look at you and I see someone who embodies what it means to truly be a musician."

"There is something about it," Edward said, thoughtfully. "I mean, first you have composing. You put together the notes, the melody, the tempo. Everything has to be in the right order, and completely compatible. The composition must be just so, or it's complete dissonance. You have to hear it, feel it – both, really - to create it the way it's supposed to be."

His hands came up to shape his words as he spoke. She'd seen those incredible fingers sometimes twitch with anxiety, but now they moved as assuredly as when he was at the piano. "And there's playing. It can be either your own song or someone else's. You play these notes just as they are put together, sometimes for one instrument, sometimes for more, and it's perfect. Especially with classical music, there are no lyrics to convey meaning. Composers relied on the music to show us passion, fury, love, comfort." He paused for a moment, a fierce look still on his features. Bella couldn't stop watching him, her throat constricted with her own emotions.

"You feel it throughout your body, and the joy is intense and indelible, even if the song isn't that long. And it's all so finite, but it doesn't take away from the pleasure. Really, is there anything shorter than a music note?" he asked, the excitement flush on his face. "On its own, it's nothing. But put together - well, it's magic. We truly make magic when we play."

He suddenly looked embarrassed at his declaration. But Bella was deeply stirred, physically as well as emotionally. She'd never heard it expressed with such ardor.

"See, that's it," she said fervently. "Those thoughts – it's so clear to me that they're organic to you. You think that way naturally. It would never occur to me to put it that way. You have this way of describing it - the lesson we learn that notes individually don't amount to much, but together, they create something beautiful. I've never looked at it like that, but you're absolutely right. What you said is perfect."

"Maybe you don't have to think it. Maybe you just feel it," Edward replied, nudging his shoulder into Bella's. It was an informal gesture, almost kidding, but it left a warmth in the place where he touched her.

"Not as well as you," she said.

Edward leaned forward so he could better see the expression on Bella's face. Her head was down, and she was staring at the floor. When she tilted her face back up, she was mere inches away from him.

For a moment, there was nothing except their gaze holding them together. Then Edward caressed her face, trailing his fingertips down along her cheek until they rested near her mouth. He took her chin gently and drew her toward him.

Bella closed her eyes and felt his hand drop down to grip hers as he kissed her. His lips were warm and a little tentative, and Bella wondered if she'd ever felt anything so thrilling at the first touch.

Edward shifted so they were closer together, and he drew back enough to look in her eyes again. He moved his hands to cup her face, then his lips were on hers again, moving slightly, almost demanding.

She sighed and leaned into him, opening her own lips even as she thought, _shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't, shouldn't…_But Bella knew she couldn't stop, and now that this fire was lit, she'd have to tend to it.

Edward's tongue moved inquisitively, and she responded in kind, picking up the harmony. He heard her inhale and then felt her body soften against him, melting into his own. The kiss lasted for minutes, grew stronger as their tongues became more insistent, and then Bella gently pulled away, gasping. She leaned into him, her forehead touching his chin.

"Edward," she said, her voice almost a cry. "We can't-" but she got no further because he was kissing her again, then moving his lips relentlessly over her jaw and neck. She took his face between her hands so she could place her open mouth against his once more, finding his breath, all hot and anxious.

Finally they separated, and Edward tenderly stroked her hair back from her face. His eyes almost made her come undone again, but Bella forcibly cleared her head.

"Edward, I can't," she said finally. "You're a client. I can't do this while we're working together. It isn't right."

He put his arm around her and looked across the Sound. "Is it too late for me to get out of this deal?" he said, smiling.

"I'm afraid so."

"You can't subcontract me out to some place down the street?"

"No. And there is no other place down the street."

"Then I expect to be a free agent when my contract expires," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

Both of them knew it would be a long time before that happened.

There were barely three weeks before Edward had to return to Curtis for the start of the semester. They worked furiously for long hours, recording as much as they could while time was on their side.

Logically, the "Mephisto" composition should have taken the longest, but Edward had it down perfectly after a few takes. The remaining selections from Bach, Beethoven and Brahms – "the triple B-threat," as Carlisle called them – took some more time. Edward rehearsed them on his own but, to Bella's surprise, still seemed insecure about his performance. He asked to re-record several times before he was satisfied with the performance.

After he played the Bach French Suite for the fifth time – with no difference from the first that Bella could discern – she asked if he wanted Carlisle to sit in on the sessions, thinking that might soothe him. Judging from the expression on his face, it had the opposite effect.

"But you'll be working with him tomorrow. We'll be recording 'The Planets' " – and then she stopped, watching Edward's fingers twist and fold into themselves.

She realized then that he was nervous about playing with Carlisle. It was quite a revelation, even though on some level it made sense. Edward was a musical genius who was about to duet with another musical genius with an established reputation. Of course he was worried.

Bella slid over next to him on the piano bench, conscious of the engineers sitting on the other side of the window. "I'm sorry I didn't realize you're anxious," she said softly.

He shrugged. "It's okay. I'm just not used to playing duets."

She watched him for a moment, and was certain it was much more than that. "This isn't going to be easy for you, I know. But Carlisle has an enormous amount of faith in your talent and capabilities. Trust me: he does not agree to play with just anyone any more."

Edward's shoulders tensed, and Bella worried that she'd said the wrong thing. "We don't have to keep any tracks you're not happy with. The two of you will have plenty of time to practice together – we've got the studio booked for the entire day." She knew her boss was eagerly anticipating his session with Edward in the morning, but she could see that Edward had all the worries of a novice despite his extraordinary talent. Words wouldn't help in this situation.

She took Edward's hand discreetly and rubbed her thumb over the back of it. His shoulders relaxed minutely, but Bella saw it. Her hands were cold from the chilly air in the studio, and Edward wrapped her fingers in his own. They stayed this way for as long as they dared considering they were under observation.

"Thanks," Edward finally said, then released her hand.

There was no small satisfaction for Bella in realizing she knew how to comfort him.

What she didn't know was how to say goodbye.

They finished all the tracks for the CD in record time, attributed largely to Edward's talent and determination. Bella admired that he was so intensely focused on the music, and had no reservations about working hard to get it right. But she knew how much this meant to him, personally more than professionally. Thanks to his commitment to his music and his mother, DigiClassic was about to release a best-seller.

Both of them were acutely aware that their time together was winding down. It would only be another day before a continent separated them. Curtis was due to begin its winter and spring term. Bella would have to find a way to return to her other clients, whom she'd been all but ignoring, as well as the never-ending process of finding new ones.

"How is your mother?" she asked at one point during their last session.

"She's about the same. She's tolerating the chemotherapy well, but it's still not clear how effective it will be. They won't know that until after her regimen is done and they run some tests," Edward replied.

Bella took his hand and squeezed it briefly. More and more, they found themselves touching innocently, though almost instinctively, these last couple of days. Edward looked at her and smiled, for her concern moved him unexpectedly.

"Will you be back to see her soon?" Bella couldn't help using this unsubtle way to find out when Edward might return to Seattle. She knew he had heavy graduate school responsibilities. There would need to be conversations about launching the CD and scheduling concerts once Edward was free from school, but Bella was well aware that such discussions could happen via phone conference.

He shook his head. "I don't know. Only if she takes a turn for the worse."

Bella realized her chances of seeing him again soon were contingent on his mother's health. She refused to consider this line of thinking.

"Then I hope that's not necessary," she finally said.

"I'll be home for the spring break at the end of March," he said, looking at her hopefully.

Bella smiled and nodded, but even this felt too far in the future. A little voice inside nagged at her for that. She was trying desperately to keep things on a professional level with Edward, but it was becoming more and more difficult. The night they kissed, she almost threw away the career she'd worked so hard to establish, and she wasn't even sure she'd be sorry if she did.

She knew she'd find reasons to call him, but it was not the same as seeing his tall frame at the piano, bent over the keys in absorbed concentration; or watching his long fingers, or hearing his low, rich voice from only a few feet away. And she knew how much she'd simply miss him.

_Let me get through this,_ she thought. _Let me finish the work I started here for Edward, and then figure it out._


	3. The Third Movement

**This is the third and final installment. Thanks again to amymorgan for donating to Alex's Lemonade Stand, and for requesting this story.**

"**Twilight" belongs to Stephenie Meyers. I'm just borrowing two characters for a bit.**

**The Third Movement**

_January, 2011 – Philadelphia_

It was early evening and Edward was alone in his townhouse on Delancey Street. Outside, it was a blustery winter evening. The wind rattled the old windows as Edward sat at his piano, absent-mindedly eating a sandwich while he picked at the keys.

He heard a knocking sound, more distinct than the rattling, and dismissed it as another facet of living in an old home. Then he heard it again, persistent and louder. Someone was at his front door.

Cautiously, he looked out the peephole, but he could see no one there. He was just about to walk away when he heard it again. Curiosity got the better of him, and he swung open the door.

Bella stood there on his doorstep, swaddled in a long down coat, with only her eyes visible between the top of a scarf and the bottom of a hat. She held up a mittened hand and mumbled, "Hi."

Shocked, Edward stared at her until he knew she wasn't a mirage. He was pretty certain that mirages only happened in extreme heat, and not in frigid urban environments, so he finally snapped out of it and cried out, "Bella!"

"Yes, it's me." He could see her eyes crinkle in a smile of relief.

"My God, what are you doing here? No, I mean - come in! Please!" he said.

She stepped inside and began to unravel her scarf, then looked at him shyly. "I hoped you wouldn't mind. I just got in, and I had your address from the company records." Edward noticed an enormous cello case propped against the railing, with a small wheeled suitcase in front of it.

Confused, he asked, "Are you here on business?"

"Not exactly," she replied, a small smile still playing around her lips.

He carefully brought the cello into his house and then ushered her into the kitchen. She sat at the table and rubbed her hands together.

Unaccustomed to having guests, Edward took a few moments before coming to his senses and offering Bella some tea. They remained silent for a few moments, with Edward setting the kettle on the stove and Bella watching his movements.

Finally, she spoke. "I left DigiClassic."

He whirled around and looked at her in surprise. "You left the company? When?"

"I gave my notice to Carlisle a couple of weeks ago."

Edward pulled a chair over so it was very close to her. "Why?"

Bella raised her chin and looked past him, over his shoulder, as if gathering some courage. "I've applied to Curtis. I came here to meet with professors in the strings department," she said, finally looking him in the eye.

He sat back in his chair and stared. Bella waited, her stomach knotting, for some kind of reaction.

A huge grin broke out on Edward's face. He clasped her hands and said, "You decided to go back to school!"

She couldn't help but smile back at how happy he looked. This was the expression she hoped would greet her when she found him in this city.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "And since it's a top tier school...and I'm a top tier student..." she said, her voice trailing off.

Edward looked at her sideways. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"Probably not." Bella grinned, still buoyed by his reaction.

The kettle whistled, and Edward carried her tea over. "What made you decide to do this now?"

"I thought about what you said that night after the party. And I realized you were right. I was just kind of treading water. I was good at my job," she said almost defensively, "but it wasn't good for me."

"You're going to study?" Edward asked. He took in her lovely eyes, which sparkled as she talked about returning to school, and the rest of her face, which still had faint red spots on her cheeks from the cold.

She nodded. "As long as I'm accepted there. They seemed very accommodating about my audition. I'm keeping my fingers crossed."

"Well," he said teasingly, "I think there's someone on the faculty who can probably write you a good recommendation."

She drew back in mock surprise. "Really. Who in Philadelphia knows anything about how I play?"

"There is one person. Someone who heard you at Christmastime. Someone who happened across you as you were playing, and that one time made all the difference." Without thinking, Edward leaned in toward Bella.

She tipped her head down toward him, and Edward kissed a spot above her brow. He closed his eyes against the feel of her skin, now warming from their time in his kitchen.

"Where are you staying?" he asked her.

Embarrassed, she glanced down. "I, um, haven't exactly worked that out. I came here first." Uncertain again, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Then you'll stay here," he said.

"No, I couldn't. I mean, I can't impose on you." Bella shook her head, though her heart wasn't in her refusal.

"It's no imposition," he said, squeezing her hands gently. "I'm the only person you know in Philadelphia, right? It makes sense. And besides," he said, his voice softening, "I'd really like it if you were here."

"If you're sure it's okay…"

"I'm sure," he said, and his smile grew bigger again. "Come on. Bring your tea with you, and I'll get you settled." He grabbed her suitcase, then led her to the second floor.

Edward entered the first doorway on the right, a small bedroom minimally furnished with a double bed and nightstand, and a small oak dresser. The walls were bare except for one framed poster from Glenn Gould's debut with the New York Philharmonic in 1957.

"I haven't gotten around to furnishing all of the house," he said apologetically.

"Looks like you've got the important things down," she said, nodding toward the Gould poster.

"Priorities. Are you hungry? I don't have a lot of food in the house, but I could make you a sandwich."

"I am hungry," she said shyly. "I would love to take a shower first, though. It was a very long flight."

"Of course," Edward said. "The bathroom is this way." He led her to the end of the hall, his steps light with happiness, and stopped at a narrow linen closet to grab a towel.

Bella held back for a moment, a little stunned at how quickly this was all moving. Or maybe, she was simply astonished at her continued impulsiveness. She'd applied to Curtis, quit her job, and then hopped a plane in the span of several weeks.

Perhaps what really shocked her was how well it all seemed to be working out. Her biggest fear – that Edward would reject her despite their evident connection – appeared to be unfounded.

Bella went back to the spare bedroom for her toiletries. She stopped as she unzipped her suitcase, wondering if she should unpack. She realized she had no idea how long she'd actually be at Edward's home. Maybe the best thing would be to leave her clothes in the suitcase. For all she knew, she'd be going to a hotel the next day, although she hoped not.

The house was a late colonial brick, in a vernacular style common throughout Philadelphia. Bella estimated it had to be at least 200 years old, judging by the pine floors and thick plaster walls. The bathroom, however, was pleasantly modern, and Bella found the tension from the cramped airplane ride slowly easing away under the welcome pressure of the showerhead.

Edward had gone downstairs to prepare food for Bella. He thought that after she'd eaten, he could show her the syllabus for his composition class this semester so she might have an idea of what to expect. Of course, different professors handled their course material in different ways, but Edward also wanted Bella to know what was important to him as a teacher. And honestly, he was looking forward to showing off his knowledge of the school.

He returned to his room to get the information from his messenger bag. As he was going through his papers, Bella walked past. Edward called out to her, and without thinking, Bella stepped into his room.

She was clad only in a robe, her body fragrant from lavender soap and shampoo. Once she realized she was less than optimally dressed, she clutched her dirty laundry tightly against her middle and did her best to smile through her embarrassment.

"I had some information from Curtis I wanted to show you. You know – just some material from my classes," Edward said awkwardly.

"Oh. Okay." Bella looked around for a moment and noticed the large walnut-frame bed which dominated the room. A tall dresser made from matching wood stood opposite, with a rectangular mirror hung above. Music flowed from a stereo set up on top.

She also noticed, with an appreciative eye, that Edward didn't make it his bed. The sheets and comforter were thrown around haphazardly, and Bella liked the lack of organization. It seemed so different from the precise musician she'd come to know. Something about the contrast warmed her, as if she was seeing something of him that wasn't visible to very many people. And she almost never made her bed at home. Finding someone else with the same sloppy habit tickled her.

Edward took in the mess and grew embarrassed at his own carelessness. "Sorry. I always seem to forget to take care of this," he said, gesturing to his unmade bed.

"Oh, no – really, it's okay," Bella replied distractedly. She was wondering how it felt to be enfolded in Edward's bed - ideally, with Edward.

She forced herself to snap back and saw the photographs at the top of his dresser. One of them was a framed picture of Edward with his parents.

"I haven't even asked you how your mother is. I'm so sorry," Bella said sincerely.

"It's okay. I talk to her a few times a week. She's so strong," he murmured.

"She's beautiful." Bella traced an outline around Edward's mother, but avoided mentioning his father. "Is this you?" She pointed at the child who stood between them.

"Yes."

"You've grown up," she teased him gently.

"Yes, I have," he said, his eyes searching her face.

Nervously, she placed the photo back on his dresser. Van Morrison's "Into the Mystic" floated through the room and filled the space around them.

Finally, she looked at him. "I love this song," she said.

"Bella." It sounded almost like a question.

He stepped closer to her and tentatively slipped his right hand up her forearm, under the sleeve of her robe.

"Bella," he said again, this time almost in a whisper. "You came all the way across the country…to go to school."

She nodded, waiting for him – waiting to see where this was going.

"The same school where I teach."

A sigh. "Yes."

"There are other music schools."

"Few as good as Curtis," she whispered in response.

His hand came up to the side of her face, his thumb caressing her cheek. "Were you planning to take any of my classes?" He leaned down and kissed first the spot where his thumb had been, then her lips, brushing them softly with his own.

"I don't know. What instrument do you play again?" She closed her eyes as Edward's mouth moved up her cheek and along her temple. He brushed the side of his face along her hair, inhaling deeply.

"Piano..."

"Then you'd probably make a crappy cello instructor." She turned her face up, a small smile on her lips. Edward grinned back, then kissed her deeply, thoroughly, as he had before Christmas.

This time, there were no business concerns to restrict them. They were only two people who wanted something in each other, achingly, powerfully, and the moment had arrived to take it.

Edward looked at her questioningly, and she nodded slightly, just enough for him to catch it. He leaned down and kissed her again, their tongues exploring, gently at first, then becoming more daring.

Her robe had come loose, and Edward slowly untied it. He eased his hands inside and placed them at her hips before following the delicate curve of her waist. His fingertips danced lightly along her skin until his hands reached her breasts, cupping them gently, rubbing his thumbs against her nipples.

Bella moaned at the sensation. Just this slight amount of his skin on hers was enough to set her nerves on fire. She knew now that she'd wanted this for a very long time. The admission was like giving herself permission to finally have all that she wanted – not just the music, but the musician. She tugged on his shirt, impatient to feel more of him.

Edward stepped back and pulled the Henley clear over his head, wrenching his arms out of the sleeves and tossing it aside. He slid his arms around Bella's waist and pulled her against him, his mouth searching for hers, still hungry, still wanting.

She touched the front of his jeans, and he watched as her fingers deftly undid the button, then eased the zipper open as if they were gliding down the strings of her beloved cello. Bella pushed the denim past his hips, and the pants fell to the floor.

Smoothly, he removed the robe that had slipped past her shoulders. Though they were only a few steps from the bed, Edward picked her up and carried her, laying her down on the mattress before sliding in next to her.

The bed smelled like Edward, and Bella closed her eyes and smiled as she rubbed her face against the pillow. She was lying on her side, and when he brought his body flush with hers, she tugged at his underwear.

Suddenly, Edward pulled back and left the bed. Bella almost fell over into the emptiness. He whispered, "Just a minute," and left the room. She heard him rooting around in the medicine cabinet, and then her confused expression cleared when she saw the condom he carried back with him.

"You keep them in the bathroom?" she said, looking at the nightstand.

"I, um, haven't used them much lately. In fact…" he said, holding the foil packet to the light, "I think I should check the date on this."

She giggled. "You do know how to make a girl feel special."

Edward looked at her tenderly. "You _are_ special, Bella. I know it's only been a short time…but you mean so much to me."

Bella left the bed to stand next to him again. "I hoped you would want to see me. I didn't know what would happen when I came here…" He brushed some strands of hair off her forehead, watching as she spoke her refrain to his own admission. "I just had to be near you again." She looked at him almost nervously. The uncertainty she rarely felt professionally was powerful now that she'd taken such huge chances in her personal life.

"I missed you. I'm so glad you came," he murmured. "Glad for you because you'll be in music the way you should be. And glad for me – for us – because you're here...where you should be."

Bella almost cried at the relief his words brought to her. She palmed the planes of his chest, exploring and touching, moving down past his navel and the narrow trail of hair below it.

Finally, she slipped her fingers underneath the elastic band of his underwear and slid them off, caressing him, teasing him, making him ache in the best way possible.

He took her hand and they returned to the bed, kissing first, their mouths united once again. Edward worked his way down her neck as Bella arched and moaned her encouragement. When he reached her breasts, she sank into the pillow, trembling.

Edward loved the feel of her skin, the taste of it – clean and fragrant from the shower, warm and receptive. He glided his nose in the valley between her breasts, then kissed them again, sucking and tugging at her nipples. With a long exhale, Bella dragged her nails back and forth across his shoulders, scratching him just enough.

Moving slowly down her body, Edward placed kisses along her stomach, humming his own contentment. It was like discovering a new and exquisite piece of music, then learning how to bring out the best notes. He settled himself in between her legs as her hands moved to his hair, softly fingering the strands

Still he kissed her, now in this place that was so different and secret from the rest of her body. He opened his mouth and lingered, his tongue warm and firm, drawing up then down. More kisses, then steady circles, a lick, then a swirl, enough to tease, then giving more. And finally, it was all giving, his mouth so generous as he found what moved her the most. Bella tensed and rose, and Edward placed his hand on her abdomen – to steady her, and to feel the deep cries that came up from her belly as her orgasm shook her.

As she came down, he kissed her gently along her thighs, then moved up to take the condom off his nightstand. Bella watched him as her breathing grew normal, then she clasped his hand in a silent request to put the condom on for him. She marveled at the unspoken ease of their communication. Here in this intimate setting, she felt both known and knowing.

Edward slipped his arms underneath her shoulder blades, looking her in the eyes. "You're beautiful…so responsive," he breathed. "So much more than I could have imagined." He dipped his head down to trace her collarbone with his nose.

Bella grasped his arms as he laid himself against her hips. He moved to position himself at her entrance, but she stopped him so she could take him in her hand, wanting to do it herself. She never took her eyes off of him. Her own satisfaction thrummed greater when she saw and felt his moans once he was inside her.

He went slowly at first, their eyes locked into each other. She loved his rhythm, his movements which gradually became stronger, maybe even more assured. Involuntarily, Bella's legs went up and around his hips. The shift brought him deeper, and she cried out "Oh, oh, _oh_," a cadence that escalated with every vibration that coursed through her. When she quieted, he brushed his lips near her ear, whispering her name again and again as he continued moving within her.

Edward's eyes closed and his face took on the same intense concentration she'd seen whenever he was at the piano. Bella loved the feel of his hands pressing against her, those strong fingers that usually caressed the keys now working rhythmically against the skin of her hips. He was holding on to her as he let go.

She felt him stiffen as his own cries echoed through the room. Bella held him, her arms and legs around his torso almost protectively.

With a sigh, he sank back down toward her, his elbows keeping his entire weight off of her.

As she closed her eyes, she felt gentle pecks and nuzzles along her neck. Bella combed through his hair once more with her fingers, finally finding his mouth again and giving him lush, lingering kisses. They were silent for awhile, their kisses slowing, and then Bella gave a contented sigh.

Edward moved them so her back was to his chest, and he put his arms around Bella's waist.

"Will you play for me again?" he murmured.

"Maybe later?" she responded, chuckling.

"Yes, later. Or tomorrow. Or even the next day," he said.

"Can I leave my cello here? I know it'll be safe," she said, still tentative.

He stretched his neck so he could see her face. "I was hoping you'd stay here with it. The cello isn't much good to me without you." Edward pulled her closer. "You'll both be safe here."

Downstairs, the forgotten sandwich grew stale as the two new lovers fell comfortably asleep.

**Thank you for reading! **

**And thanks again to piperann_25, for helping me so much with this story. Thanks also to writingbabe and Isabeausink for their time and editing talents.**

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